


Silver Tongue, Heart of Gold

by jillyfae



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, HEA, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 13:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11829822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: Varric lies; especially about himself. Things he never told anyone; not entirely all in the same timeline/universe, but all equally possible.





	1. Interesting Correspondence

Serah Tethras:

Don't think we haven't noticed that donations to Lusine's Ferelden nonsense and that orphanage just down the coast have increased since you took over your brother's seat in the Guild.  We will find out how you rearranged the books.  

You can count on it.

***

_My dearest Varric,_

_I don't know how, but it's all too convenient to be an accident, so I've decided it's your fault._

_Merrill finds half-drowned kittens when following her twine home?_

_She and Anders actually managed to have a pleasant conversation that very night, (nudged along by you, I do believe), so she took them to his clinic?_

_I like cheering Anders up even more than you do, I'm quite sure, but kittens?  Really? You know he can't leave them alone at the clinic when he's called away._

_I have a mabari you know.  Of course you know, he beats you at cards.  I am a dog person._

_Do you know what kittens do to a drawer full of socks?  I_

_I'll get you for this.  Somehow._

_\-- Hawke_

***

Messere Tethras:

My roommate informs me that the only reason I woke up in my bunk this morning rather than stripped and freezing in a Darktown alley is that you made sure I had someone to walk me home.  

Thank you.

[Brennan](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Brennan)

And, um, since you're friends with the Captain, could you maybe accidentally not tell her I needed the help home?  It might make her a little less likely to do that thing with her voice that's worse than yelling during my next shift.  I hope.

***

_Varric._

_Darling._

_Where did you find such exquisite Antivan brandy?_

_Thank you._

_Zevran thanks you as well, we enjoyed it immensely._

_Among other things.  Obviously._

_< 3_

_Isabela._

***

_My dear friend,_

(Varric jots off almost the same note every time, a quick scrawl across a handy piece of parchment.)

_I have no idea what you’re talking about. Can I interest you in some ale, while you tell me all about it?_


	2. April Showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric looking after an incredibly drunk Merrill, prompted by FYVarric
> 
> It turned quite sad instead of silly. ;_;

"Daisy." Relief was a sudden searing breath filling his lungs.  She hadn't been home, hadn't been  _anywhere_.  And yet, apparently she had.  Here she was, just sitting in his suite,  _waiting,_ a glass of something dark and potent at her elbow.  A mostly empty glass.

He eased his door closed and set Bianca down before approaching.  Her shoulder felt sharp and light against his skin when he carefully patted Merrill, rather afraid the slightest touch might send her sliding to the floor.  He couldn't actually tell how she was keeping herself upright in his chair, to be perfectly frank.  "How long have you been drinking?"

"Um."  She blinked even more enormous than usual green eyes at him.  Slowly.  "What day is it?"

"The fourth of  _Solace_ , and a nice balmy day it's been, too."   _As I know from traipsing all across Lowtown and Darktown trying to find someone who knew where you were, silly girl._

"Since the third."  Merrill nodded seriously, holding up five fingers.  "That's awhile, then?"

"Yes, yes it is."  

Somehow he suddenly had elf head resting against his chest, her normally nimble fingers tangled awkwardly in his tunic.  "Say some more things, you feel all nice and rumbly."

"Whatever you want, Daisy."  She was much too long, but very lightweight, all skinny arm and leg, so it was surprisingly easy to support her weight as he sat down and shifted them around 'til he wasn't getting an elbow poked into his side any longer.

"Can you tell me a happy story, Varric?"  Her voice was just a whisper, and he had to close his eyes, swallow the ache that could've tightened his throat too much to let him talk if he wasn't careful.   _Damn you Marethari._   "One where nobody dies?"

"Of course."  He braced his arm against the chair, supporting her back against the thick curve of his palm.  "I'll do you even better than that."

She made a rough questioning sort of purr, as if wondering what could possibly be better than having the most important person in your life be _not dead._

"Well, nobody dies because they're rescued by griffons, of course."


	3. it never hurts to ask...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by genjyosgirl for the DA kiss battle: Isabela and Varric

"Please?"

"No."

"PLEEEAAAASE?"

"No."

"But Varric ..."

"Rivaini, I don't care how much you pout, you cannot take Bianca home for the night." Varric shook his head. "The very idea."

"Can I take you home for the night then?" Her pout change instantaneously into a warm smirk.

"No."

"Just once?" That time she winked.

"No."

"Can I get a kiss goodnight then, before I'm forced to brave the dark night, all alone?"

"It's two doors down the hallway." Varric's lips twitched as he barely held in the urge to laugh at Isabela's wide eyes and quivering lip. "You could probably survive the trip without your boots, if you really wanted to give it a try."

"But don't you want me to have sweet dreams?"

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't quite stop the smile that time. "Alright Rivaini, I give up."

She laughed, warm and delighted, and leaned all the way across the table, breasts pushed against the wood, and pressed her lips to his, quick and light and surprisingly sweet, for a pirate. "Thank you Varric."

He waited until she'd sashayed away, his door closing behind the swing of her hips, before shaking his head with a smile and a sigh.

"Sweet dreams, Isabela."


	4. in flagrante delicto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spiritofemby requested: "F!Hawke/Varric, Gloves. Taking precautions is never 100%. :D"
> 
> and I combined it with kyeshgall's "i’ve been clicking the prompts generator over and over again till i got one i reaaaalllly wanted. for your consideration, then. varric/marian hawke, caught with their pants down."

"Milady Waffles."  Varric bowed extravagantly, one hand waving through the air, the other pressed firmly to his heart.

"Messere Tethras?" Marian felt her eyebrows rise, her voice as well, part amusement, part surprise, perhaps a hint of worry.  There was obviously something up, after all, to inspire such a show.  "What may I do for you?"

"Well," Varric straightened up, a slight shrug across his shoulders before his gaze dropped to his hands, and he pulled on the leather around his fingers, slowly edging his gloves off his hands.

Marian was more than content watching Varric’s hands for hours, usually, but the fact that he wasn’t watching her watch him was a trifle out of character.  Nothing he enjoyed more than a good audience.

So she waited.  Silently, biting her tongue to swallow the urge to pester him, until he tucked his gloves into his belt and finally looked at her again.

"I may have forgotten the extra lock for the door last night."

"Well, that can’t have been, I mean, we would have …" she trailed off, tempted to fidget or blush, only just managing to settle for staring at him instead.  

She had been about to comment on how no one ever managed to sneak up on them, on him,  _crafty fellow, sharpest ears in Lowtown_ , but she’d been face down into his pillows most of the night as he took her from behind, and all she could really remember was the smell and the feel and the hard length of him and the strength of his hands, and if she was being completely honest there could have been a circus performance in the room behind him and she wouldn’t have noticed.

"Oh."

At the small soft sound of her voice he finally smiled, a little crooked, a little pleased, perhaps a touch proud of how very nice it felt to be completely involved in each other, even if it led to … well, whatever he was about to tell her.

"Judging by Rivaini’s impertinent questions all afternoon, she only saw us sleeping, rather than, well,  _before that,_  but …"

"She asked them loudly in front of everyone and now no one we know will ever shut up about us being together?"

"Probably."

"Huh."  She tried not to grin as his eyebrows lifted, apparently not quite sure what she meant by that.  "Does that mean you’ll stay for breakfast tomorrow, rather than going back to the Hanged Man in the middle of the night?"

At that he laughed, a shake of his shoulders as his posture eased.  "Sure thing."


	5. expecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompted by spark-of-jenius "Varric/f!Hawke, we're pregnant!"

"But I’m a dwarf."

"I had noticed." Her lips twitched.  "I think the lack of height gave it away."

"And you’re human."

"Really? I am? I’m shocked." One hand splayed across her chest, pressed to her heart, as her lips gave up the fight and curved into a smile.  "Is that why my shoulders are too skinny for your jacket?"

Varric gaped, he was ashamed to admit later, for once completely at a loss for words.  Her smile trembled, just the tiniest shiver, a gleam in her eyes that was edging more towards tears than laughter, and he realized he was being a complete and utter moron.

"Darling," he shook his head, his voice falling to a warm soft rumble, “you do give the very best surprises."  He stepped forward, feeling the ache in his chest as her smile softened, and he reached up to touch her face, a gentle brush of fingertips before he shifted his grip and pulled her down into a kiss.


	6. Isabela is Always Right (just ask her)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for [kyeshgall](http://kyeshgall.tumblr.com)

Isabela has been suspicious for awhile.  They're too  _good._  They read each other too well, each shift of weight, each quick glance.  There's an intimacy there, deeper ( _deeper, heh),_ than friendship.

Or so she likes to claim, but everyone else ignores her.

They really ought to know better.  She's almost always right.

Well. There was that time with the tailor.  And the fishmonger.  And of course the spiders ... 

Shush. She's right when it's  _important._  


And if they're bothering to keep it a secret, than clearly it's very important indeed.

Of course, now she just has to figure out how to make them  _admit it._

***

This spider's nest is absolutely not her fault.

But it works.

Hawke is so relieved when they all climb free of the caves, dusty and dirty and covered in spider guts, but nobody broken at all, (not even Bianca), that she grabs Varric and kisses him.

For quite awhile.

Isabela is pretty sure there was some tongue involved, and Varric's hands are very thoroughly buried in Hawke's hair, holding her as close as possible, so there is that cat finally out of the bag.

Which is an odd phrase if ever she heard one, because cats in bags are generally about to be  _drowned,_ so getting out would not usually be a good thing ...

Except for the cat.

But judging from the flush on Hawke's cheeks when she stands up, she doesn't think letting this particular cat free is a great idea.

Isabela just whistles the whole way back to Kirkwall.  Doesn't even tease her a bit.

That can wait 'til later.

For now, she just enjoys being proven right.

As usual.


	7. gentle peck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh look, I did the kiss meme on tumblr again <3
> 
> This was for [bladeofmercy](http://bladeofmercy.tumblr.com)

Even the Hanged Man is quiet occasionally.

Varric’s not a fan of the quiet, not usually.

_Too boring._

But sometimes …

Sometimes even he takes a rest, humming softly along with the crackle of his fire, licking his lips at the taste of wood oil in the air as he slowly smooths a rag down Bianca’s stock, again and again, losing himself in the motion, careful not to lose himself in memories, not of his family, not of her namesake, nor her maker, Bianca and Gerav both long gone, shadows keeping his parents and brother company, deep in the Stone.

He stands up when he is done, ignoring the knot between his shoulders as he puts his kit away, giving the shining edge of inlay in her stock a brief kiss before he puts her on her rack above the mantel.

A place for everything, and everything in its place.

Even him.  He sighs, and pulls the screen in front of the fire, and heads off to his bed, and the quiet dark embrace of sleep.


	8. one more dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> F!Hawke/Varric, "masquerade ball" prompted by [emby](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/93704173583#notes)

"No."

"But  _Varric._ ”

"No. Just this once, I am not making up some grand romantic story about masks and dancing and moonlight."

"Whyever not?"

"Because you refused to go, and slipped away from your mother right after depositing her next to Elegant, and I was in the kitchen with the  _good ale,_  and the good stories from the staff, so I never actually got to see you in your fancy duds.”

"And since when has that stopped you?"

"Maybe I wanted to see your fancy duds. A little bit of truth to flesh out the stories."

"I could put them all back on?"

"Could you, now?"

"Just for you, Varric. And then you can help me take them off again."

"While that is a very promising idea, that’s also not a story I’m telling anyone else."

"Excellent plan. I like having a few of your stories all to myself."


	9. curmudgeon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If i were to prompt you for writing it would be for fhawke/varric, making love when they’re old together. because i will always want them to have a charmingly-grumpily-sweetly ever after. "  
> requested by [kye](http://kyeshgall.tumblr.com)

_Void take them,_ his shoulders ached.

“Never thought we’d be this old, Bianca.”  He patted the crossbow fondly, but left her in her rack, in pride of place above the mantel.  He took her down for a practice and some oil or wax almost daily, but they hadn’t had a proper fight in years.

Which was usually a good thing, but he was feeling twitchy to go along with the sore tonight.

Probably because Hawke wasn’t back yet.

He could count on one hand the number of times they’d spent more than a day apart since they’d left Kirkwall.  He did not appreciate adding another finger to the tally.

Not that it was her fault.

Well,  Maybe it was.  It certainly felt like her fault.  She never could keep her nose out of other people’s business, unable to say no to anyone asking for help, even now, even when she really ought to have learned better.

_Should have taken me with, at least._

But it was just supposed to be a quick run to look for a missing youth; the neighbors had come seeking their horse more than Hawke herself, truthfully, and they’d shown up asking right as the clouds were blowing in and they’d neither of them fixed the thatching on the roof, and he really hated a wet bedroom and dwarves and horses didn’t really get along, so … 

Not that Varric got along with thatching particularly well either, but at least he could swear in private on the roof, rather than being surrounded by a bunch of stupid humans.

He remembered a time when he had people to do things like roof repair for him.

He still probably could’ve found someone, but it seemed like cheating, somehow, using their stash of gold for something as mundane as fixing the roof.  That was just … boring.

Varric refused to be so very normal.

Only now the job was done, and the sun was setting, and here he was, worrying like an old maid, all alone in the house.

_Shit._

They only had the one horse right now.  Would take him longer to hunt them down on foot than it would for them to bring her back, even if something had gone wrong.

Sometimes being good at stories was a horror, making up all the many possible, improbable, and borderline impossible things that could have happened.

_Nothing’s impossible with Hawke._

That was usually a comfort.

Not so much tonight.

***

She didn’t make it back until almost dawn.  He considered yelling for a brief moment, worry outweighing sense, but settled for pretending he was asleep while she dragged the horse off to their almost-stable, and ignoring her quiet swearing when she stubbed her toe on the table after taking off her boots.

By the time she actually made it to bed, stumbling through the darkness, he was trying and failing to swallow his laughter.  Though he kept it quiet enough she didn’t notice until she climbed in next to him and could feel the slight shake of the bed beneath them.

At which point she hit him.

So he tickled her until she gave up, collapsing all across the bed, whining about how long a night it had been and when had he turned into such a heartless bastard.

“Pretty sure I gave my heart away the first time I saw you go down in battle.”

At that she sighed, and her hands were soft around his face, and her lips were even softer against his.  ”I did try to stop doing that.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you never tried to get hit.”  He raised his eyebrows at her, as if he wasn’t really sure of that at all, just to watch her smirk back at him.  ”Didn’t seem to stop it happening.”

She snorted softly, and kissed him again, slow and warm, until he ached with it.  ”We both made it anyways.”

“Yes, we did.”  He stroked her hair, pushing it up off her face and behind her ear.  ”Never thought I’d live to see so much grey.”

“I never thought I’d see you wearing clothes that buttoned up so high.”  She grinned at him, tugging on the top hem of his nightshirt where it rested by his collar bones.

“Goes along with the grey hair.”  

She laughed again, a light and happy sound,  _a perfect sound,_  and he slid his hands beneath her shirt, up along the sides of her stomach and ribs and breasts, warm skin catching beneath his fingers until the sounds she made weren’t laughter at all, sighs and moans and the whisper of his name sliding past her lips. _  
_

“Do you know what else goes along with the grey hair?”  He’d shifted just enough to whisper against her neck, her ear, feeling her shiver beside him right before she shook her head.  ”Experience.”

He knew precisely what she liked best, his mouth on her breast with her shirt still between them, the cling of fabric and cool air and the slightest edge of teeth, his thigh pushed up between her legs so she could roll her hips against him, as hard as she wanted, her fingers digging into his arms as she gasped and tightened and came.

Only after that first hot flush did they undress, slower than they used to, what with his aching shoulders and her stiff hips, but they enjoyed every moment still, skin and heat in the dark until dawn shivered through the air and he could watch her as she straddled him.  Could admire the shift of stomach and thighs and breasts above him, the way she tightened around him as he filled her, the way her breath caught when he pushed up, deeper, the way his own breath caught when she leaned back, just enough so he could feel the shift through his body, could feel the rub, and the heat, and  _Maker’s breath,_  she still made his heart ache.

He couldn’t hold himself still, an uneven jerk of his hips, trying to last just a little longer, wanting her to come again, to come with him, a shift of his hands and a low rumble of his voice to help her along until her eyes closed and he could feel her body clench and ease and clench again, one last groan and shudder of his own as he followed.

There was very little in life that compared to the feeling of their bodies collapsed together afterwards, breath and heartbeats and skin.  

“If that keeps getting better,” her voice was a whisper against his chest, her fingers stroking through the hair, still thick and curly if, yes, now mostly grey, “eventually I’m pretty sure it’ll be the death of me.”

“As long as we go together, right?”

Her laugh was slower now, deeper, her breath heavier and her voice thick, as if she was already half asleep.  ”Together it is then.”


End file.
